Part 2 - Act 4 - Scene 4. The Field Of Talavera

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_ PART SECOND. ACT FOURTH. SCENE IV.

[It is the same month and weather as in the preceding scene.

Talavera town, on the river Tagus, is at the extreme right of the foreground; a mountain range on the extreme left.

The allied army under SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY stretches between--the English on the left, the Spanish on the right--part holding a hill to the left-centre of the scene, divided from the mountains by a valley, and part holding a redoubt to the right-centre. This army of more than fifty thousand all told, of which twenty-two thousand only are English, has its back to the spectator.

Beyond, in a wood of olive, oak, and cork, are the fifty to sixty thousand French, facing the spectator and the allies. Their right includes a strong battery upon a hill which fronts the one on the English left.

Behind all, the heights of Salinas close the prospect, the small river Alberche flowing at their foot from left to right into the Tagus, which advances in foreshortened perspective to the town at the right front corner of the scene as aforesaid.]

DUMB SHOW

The hot and dusty July afternoon having turned to twilight, shady masses of men start into motion from the French position, come towards the foreground, silently ascend the hill on the left of the English, and assail the latter in a violent outburst of fire and lead. They nearly gain possession of the hill ascended.

CHORUS OF RUMOURS (aerial music)

Talavera tongues it as ten o' the night-time:
Now come Ruffin's slaughterers surging upward,
Backed by bold Vilatte's! From the vale Lapisse, too,
Darkly outswells there!

Down the vague veiled incline the English fling them,
Bended bayonets prodding opponents backward:
So the first fierce charge of the ardent Frenchmen
England repels there!

Having fallen back into the darkness the French presently reascend in yet larger masses. The high square knapsack which every English foot-soldier carries, and his shako, and its tuft, outline themselves against the dim light as the ranks stand awaiting the shock.

CHORUS OF RUMOURS

Pushing spread they!--shout as they reach the summit!--
Strength and stir new-primed in their plump battalions:
Puffs of barbed flame blown on the lines opposing
Higher and higher.

There those hold them mute, though at speaking distance--
Mute, while clicking flints, and the crash of volleys
Whelm the weighted gloom with immense distraction
Pending their fire.

Fronting heads, helms, brows can each ranksman read there,
Epaulettes, hot cheeks, and the shining eyeball,
(Called a trice from gloom by the fleeting pan-flash)
Pressing them nigher!

The French again fall back in disorder into the hollow, and LAPISSE draws off on the right. As the sinking sound of the muskets tells what has happened the English raise a shout.

CHORUS OF PITIES

Thus the dim nocturnal embroil of conflict
Closes with the roar of receding gun-fire.
Harness loosened then, and their day-long strenuous
Temper unbending,

Worn-out lines lie down where they late stood staunchly--
Cloaks around them rolled--by the bivouac embers:
There at dawn to stake in the dynasts' death-game
All, till the ending! _

Read next: Part 2: Act 4: Scene 5. The Same

Read previous: Part 2: Act 4: Scene 3. The Field Of Wagram

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